The Hobbit or the true account of Iris Sandyman, baker and burglar
by ange18
Summary: Iris is a baker by trade and eldest of seven sisters. When Gandalf offers her the chance at an adventure (with thirteen strangers) she decides to be entirely un-Hobbit-like and accept. Little did she know what was in store for her- the instant she opened her round door.
1. Chapter 1

_True Account of Iris Sandyman, baker and burglar_

Preface: The begining

It astonishes me even now, that I am sitting down to write the story of my life. As this a story of my life I will start conventionally: at the beginning.

My life began on a hot day in mid-June, some hundred years ago in a little town in the Shire Lands called Michel Delving.

My parents were poor, but honest and hard-working Hobbits. Ianto and Flora (that was their given names) worked as a postman and odd-jobber and seamstress, respectively. The only event of real note in my early childhood, was the amount of female children my parents produced. There were seven of us, of which I was the eldest. This astonishing number of girls kept the gossips' (gossip is practically a sport for Hobbits) tongues busy wagging for quite some time. My parents took this fact in stride and made sure that each of us was made to feel special.

One of my first memories is of 'helping' my mother with my sister (eldest after myself) Hyacinth, take a bath. I was charged with finding a towel and washrag. Suffice to say, I performed my duties with efficiency and pride as only a toddler can. After Hyacinth was born came Azalea, Lily and Lilac, Ivy and finally, Marigold.

The first true sadness of my life occurred shortly after Marigold was born. My mother, fitting to her general disposition, died quietly in her sleep, of child-bed fever. My father soldiered on for our sake, though a little of his luminosity faded after she died. He lived solely for our sake- there was rent that had to be paid, food bought and children to raise. My poor father got little time to grieve properly. If he had had no children, I don't believe he would have waited long to join my mother once more.

We did live though and we were all happy. When I was about Twenty-Five I was accepted as apprentice to Missus Brown.

Missus Brown owned and operated a bakery. She was a plump widow, who was ever jolly and kindness itself. She was also the biggest gossip in our town. We worked well together: she gossiped and demonstrated, I listened and learned. Little things can bring us such joy in life.

For me, it was kneading bread dough, feeling flour between my fingers or arranging candied fruit on a cake _just so_. This was a pure kind of joy, I think, to do something you love to do (not to mention the lovely smell of baked goods) so that when you are tired at the end of the day and your hands ache- you can't help but smile.

Small moments, too, can bring both joy- and great sorrow.

A good friend of my father's had asked him to come out one summer day, to see a horse he had purchased. My father, Azalea and I walked along the path, asking riddles and smelling all of the flowers along the path. When we reached the pen where his friend waited, my father quickly voiced his concerns. Despite his friend's excellent deal he had made with the Man in Bree for the beast, he was still a Hobbit and this, was a fully grown horse. I had never seen a beast so big! He seemed twenty-feet tall to me. I was terrified. As the adults talked, I let my mind wander.

Azalea, also wandered. The paddock was short and not very well-made. She ducked inside quickly, unseen by any of us. Azalea had always loved all animals. What happened next is a blur- it was all over so quickly. My father jumped into the pen to grab my sister.

He shouted, which startled the horse, which reared and began stomping. He shoved my sister aside- in the fence, and the horse came down- and kicked my father. It bucked around, stepping on my father and then running off. My ears rang and my blood ran cold. I can't say for certain what happened after- but I do remember seeing both of them being carried in slings to the healer's home.

My father's head was broken open on one side. I never got to see him as he was laid out in the healer's home. He died after a series of fits, a few hours later. Azalea however, lived. Her back and legs were injured and she spent many months in the healer's home, but she lived. My sisters and I stayed together throughout, mourning together.

I won't bore you, reader, with the details of the arrangements made, the deals and so on as to our living arrangement. Suffice to say, our oldest male cousin, Tristram got the charge of us. His own home was not complete yet after my father's sudden death, and besides, he knew that separating us would have been the worst thing to do at that time. So he 'watched' us- and we got to stay in our rented smial. Time passed and slowly I felt myself again. I was responsible for my sisters- they were my world. So I worked, paid the rent (with help with my sisters old enough to work) and tried to keep everyone organized.

We were alright, but I knew that a change for the better for us was unlikely. Hobbit society is largely based on money and/or family. Families who have been wealthy for a long time- the landlords who live in private smials in Hobbiton and thereabouts, are who decides for everyone else. Women can own no property on their own- unless they are widows, spinsters (very rare indeed) or have a dowry from rich parents.

In short, something miraculous- or at least, very, very lucky, needed to happen to help us out of the situation that our family had been in for several generations. Little did I know, that a series of events were about to be set in motion, at nine o'clock, in the bakery, on a Tuesday morning.


	2. Best Laid Dinner Plans

Chapter 2: Best laid dinner plans

It was dark when Iris finally began trudging home. Smoke curled over the tops of smials, little lights flickering in windows and under doors comforting her in the dark. Iris made her way over the old bridge, past the two old oaks, into her neighborhood. There were very few single smials in Little Delving. Iris lived on the left-hand side of one of the large hills. On their left lived Mister Bunce, a rather ill-tempered bachelor and carpenter by trade.

The hill had been dug out in the times when the original Sandyman family all lived together, on the sandy banks of the river giving them their namesake. Two other families lived further inside the partitioned hill: Widow Clayhanger-Grubb and her two sons, and the kindly Noakes family.

It was rumored that this hill once belonged to one family, but no one could say for sure.

If it wasn't written in neat little books or evident on one's (immense) family tree then it simply _did not_ exist.

"Air you unmentionables facing towards your own door," her Granny Pott warned her once when she was a tiny faunt, right before Granny went to The Garden.

She quietly approached her round lemon-yellow door.

It opened with a slight creek, letting the comforting heat and smell of dried flowers envelop Iris. Theirs was a small smial: three proper rooms – sitting room which was also their dining room, small kitchen and one large bedroom. It had once belonged to their parents, but now four of her sisters slept in their old bed. She and Azalea slept in the sitting room on the folding bed. Azalea slept nearest to the brazier in the winter; the chill went right through her, wracking her with pain.

Knitted and crocheted items covered all available surfaces. Their tiny fireplace in the sitting-dining room had the focal point of the home, the one guests were drawn to first: the mantle. It was lined little mathoms- such as oddly shaped rocks, buttons, and little pine cone animals. Iris reached up and brushed the little bird-shaped stone fondly- it had been a gift to Mother for her tenth birthday. Placing it down gently, she swallowed her tiredness and put on her smile.

All of her sisters working together to set their long table- all except one that was.

Suddenly, Iris felt something heavy come into contact with her knees. Looking up at her with a huge grin and wide-awake eyes was her youngest sister, Marigold. Marigold was on all fours and bouncing in place with excitement.

"Hello petal. Did you help cousin Tristram with the sheep today?"

Their cousin Tristram was a sheep farmer by trade. He and his wife had her two youngest sisters come and help during the day. They had offered (more than once) to have the youngest girls come and stay with them.

"Baa," Marigold answered.

Iris nodded sagely. "Oh I see… ate quite a lot of green grass, did you?"

"Baa, baa baa, baa." Marigold nodded and pantomimed eating grass, drinking from a water dish and finally leaping over an imaginary hurdle. She then rubbed Iris' bare legs with her massively curly, dark-brown lock covered head and then bounded off to sit in 'her' chair.

Despite her exhaustion, Iris smiled at her sister fondly. She was that age once too, and had once passed a week as a 'dog' until the neighbors' stares forced her into a two-legged stance once more.

Her sisters all waited patiently around their bowls of stew and slices of bread. The steam curled around their sleepy faces. Her twin sisters, Lilac and Lavender whispered conspiratorially together, only to make eye contact with Iris and then promptly picking up their spoons. On the other side of the table sat Azalea, quiet as usual. Hyacinth, eldest after Iris, was in one of her dark moods. No doubt her sister's frown would part, and a torrent of dramatic re-telling of the day's events would come pouring out. This would culminate in a long-suffering sigh. Ivy sat next to her thinking about very-important young tween business, twirling a piece of her brown hair around her forefinger. Marigold smiled good-naturedly at everyone, between bites of stew.

Barely looking up from her bite of potato, Ivy yawned, and asked: "Are you alright, Iris?"

Her sisters feigned attention (excepting Marigold who was being told off by Hyacinth for bouncing in her seat). A lump formed in Iris' throat- she wasn't sure how to approach telling them.

Keep it short and simple, her father had often told her, when you had to address something of importance. Excitement- perhaps a bit of dread, bubbled up like water from a spring inside of her.

She cleared her throat and dabbed her mouth. "I've got something very, very important to discuss with all of you. This will affect all of us. I'm asking you to listen to me and then speak your piece."

They all sat up a bit straighter and stared.

"I know this is all of a sudden…" she began, swallowing. "Sudden. The long and the short of it is, I've been offered work. A… commission if you like. But I would need to be gone for quite some time, if I accepted." She glanced up, gaging their reactions. Some moments passed before she got an answer.

"What is it, this job? In Hobbiton, perhaps?" Hyacinth asked, frowning.

"I would sign on with a company," Iris answered carefully.

"No. Not in Hobbiton, I'd be going further than that" (though rightfully she didn't know herself, but she continued on anyway). "With more than a dozen others. I am guaranteed to be paid, I trust the leader of the company with my life," Iris stated evenly, thinking of Gandalf.

Wizards were not like Men or Hobbits; wizards could not lie, could not deceive.

All at once an embarrassing scene began to unfold: several of her sister's rose from their chairs in protest, skirts flapping loudly. Ivy began to breathe rapidly, with Azalea patting her on the back.

"No!" Ivy Gasped "You can't leave... with _strangers_! You can't, Iris! You…"

"Who are they, anyway?!" Asked Lilac angrily.

"Are they… men?" Lily shuddered, with all of her sister's hands coming to cover their mouths.

"Girls…" Iris began.

"What if she gets eaten?"

"Girls."

"Don't you love us?"

"I want to go on an adventure too!"

"Girls!" She barked, and they all sat down. "Now. I'm sorry to raise my voice. This is a lot to put upon you all. Please, listen." She emplored. "I love you all so much. But life happens quickly sometimes, even for Hobbits. We've always come together in hard times, but now- I've got to do this on my own. This is the chance of a lifetime- literally. It's because of you that I am going to agree to sign on for this scheme- this... 'adventure'. I can't _not _do this. We've all worked so hard and gotten so little. I want to give you all a better chance. I wish you could understand... I need to do this. For us and..." Her composure began to crumple as she met their sad, hurt eyes. Tears began forming in her eyes. Iris swallowed and continued, tears she had held in for so long rolled down her cheeks.

"And for the first time in my life, I'll work on my own terms and actually be able to work something real, instead of waiting for a bakery that will never ever be mine."

With that Iris turned heel, and sat on her parent's bed closing the door behind her. Iris took deep breathes to calm herself. She was eldest, after all.

Iris wanted so badly to help them. A small sliver wanted something better for herself. They might escape poverty. How long had their family lived by the skin of their teeth? She was blessed, but she was also tired of living down at heel.

Azalea knocked on her door lightly, leaning against the door frame for support.

"Iris?" Came her small, winded voice.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what, Lea?"

"For being willing to go with strangers, to make our lives better. You always think about us, first."

Iris opened the door a crack.

"I feel very selfish. And worried. I'm leaving all of you my savings, of course. But I can't live in 'What-Ifs" anymore, Azalea. I want to live."

Azalea nodded. She had been injured, by the same horse that had trampled their father's head. They thought she would die. Instead, she relied on a cane; her back constantly ached, her breath short. Azalea knew better than anyone about wanting to live. She would probably be a spinster. For most Hobbit women being a spinster was a fate worse than death. But Azalea, Iris thought, was not like other Hobbits. Much like herself.

"So. What do we need to do?" Azalea asked, cracking her knuckles.

Iris gave a small laugh, dabbing her eyes.

She opened the box of paper and Azalea got out her ink and quill. Together they would begin planning expenses, travel provisions, and Iris' dinner for thirteen guests.

**Author's Note**: Chapter 2 is edited and awaits your viewing pleasure. I anticipate that the next chapter should be done by next Wednesday by the latest. I might also start posting some side-stories, once chapter 3 is up. Stay tuned for the arrival of 13 bearded dinner guests! Reviews would be fantastic (cough cough)!


	3. A most unusual dinner party

Iris woke up at about 4:30, exhausted. That night had been the last night she would sleep in Azalea and her well-worn little bed for a long time.

Taking a moment to stretch and run her hands along the seam of the feather-mattress, Iris breathed deeply, exhaling all the air from her lungs. After washing and dressing, she set out the day's bread and lit the range for her sisters. The smoky smell of wood enveloped her. Her heart panged slightly.

She bade the stirring forms of her sisters' goodbye. She was met with near silence, excepting small sniffles coming from the smallest heap of blanket.

Adjusting her skirt, she stepped outside the door into the fresh summer air. The sun hadn't woken yet, but most of the neighbors' windows were alight, everyone ready to heave baskets and lunch-pails towards fields and other respective places of work.

Missus Brown had taken the news two previous mornings before, surprisingly well. At least, for her. The older lady had looked nearly heart-broken. She had understood, she said.

The old lady had begun to tear up, dabbing her eyes on her frilly pink apron.

"Oh Iris, I understand you must go, but oh… the world is so dangerous!" She'd sobbed. Missus Brown had been so kind to Iris- this occasion was no exception. She'd offered Iris the next day's day-old goods, refusing payment "not on your life!" The dear old lady had also promised to give Iris a "small package" the next morning. Sure enough, a package was presented to her. It contained a decent-sized ham, three jars of jam, crock of butter and package of mushrooms.

They had embraced then, with Missus Brown handing her a final package: a pair of her son's trousers from when he was young, taken out at the legs, and taken-in at the waist. A pair of red braces went with the brown trousers.

The rest of what she needed for supper, she had bought on account.

She got home and first washed and prepared the vegetables. Her sisters had been given all but some of her savings, and letters given to her cousins. Her Father's old bag and wax-covered (for the rain) coat had been packed away by her sisters. The house shone. Along with the letter she'd entrusted to her cousins (as she delivered a sobbing Marigold and Ivy to the farm after shopping) she wrote several others, to each of her sisters.

Iris had cooked up a storm- stirring, straining and heating she barely realized that the sun had gone down. She had checked outside, only to find a mysterious green bottle. She opened it, and found that it was pear wine. Of course word spread quickly. Silently thanking her gift-giver, she stepped inside.

Iris had just changed into her second-best clothing (medium blue bodice with rose pattern and lilac colored skirt) when a knock came at her door.

Iris put on her 'brave face' and opened it. She tried to remain calm, as she peered at the looming black bearded face in front of her. A dwarf. A large, armed dwarf.

"Dwalin, at yer service." He said, in a gravelly voice, bowing.

She struggled for a moment to find her voice. My companions are to be dwarves. Don't panic, Gandalf will explain.

"Good evening, Mister Dwalin. Iris Sandyman at yours and your family's." She said, trying to smile and appear welcoming and confident.

"Is your father at home, lass?" He craned his head slightly to peer inside the round yellow door.

"I'm sorry…" Iris began.

"Your brother then? My kin and I have business here. I was told there would be food as well?" The dwarf was clearly trying to appear less terrifying than he appeared, having lowered his voice considerably.

"Oh. Where are my manners?" She opened her door and stepped to one side. "Please come in Mister Dwalin. It's seems we are both a bit… under-informed. No matter, you are most welcome." She said with a gentle smile.

Mister Dwalin came in slowly. He had a look of discomfort and confusion on his face. His boots made quite a lot of noise on the worn-wood. Shrugging his axes off and placing them next to the door, he stretched.

She took his cloak and hung it on the peg furthest to the door. This was good manners, as one didn't want one's guest to think they should leave soon or that they were unwelcome.

He took a seat on the old cushioned bench in the sitting-dining room and tucked into a plate of savory biscuits she presented him with.

"What would you like to drink, Mister Dwalin?" She asked kindly. "I have water of course… some wines my neighbors gave me, I can make some tea…"

"Do you have any beer?" He asked, through a mouthful of biscuits, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

"Yes, of course!" Iris walked briskly over the carpet, onto the stone-floor of the kitchen. She had just grabbed a tumbler for his beer, when another knock sounded.

She bustled over quickly, motioning the half-standing dwarf to take a seat. Another dwarf stood before her, turning slowly around. He peered at her and then gave a smile. This dwarf was shorter, but still far taller than her. He had a rather long nose and a snowy white beard. His beard forked in the middle and like the toes of his shoes, curled a bit at the ends.

"Balin, at yer service!" He called, in a rather higher voice than Dwalin.

"Iris Sandyman at yours." Inclining her head, she smiled back at the smaller dwarf.

He beamed at her, like a grandfather would a grandchild. He stepped inside.

"If you please Miss, is the master of the house in? We are expected for dinner and business."

"I'm sorry, there is no Master Sandyman." The shorter dwarf's eyes frowned slightly.

"I believe I have the wrong… oh brother!" He called to the seated dwarf. Iris jumped. The sauntered up to one another, grabbed foreheads- and crashed them together. This gave an audible thump as their skulls collided. They both laughed. Apparently, Dwarves had thick skulls.

"Please have a seat, would you like something to tide you over until your colleagues arrive? Tea? Water? Wine?"

"Ah… yes, some wine if you please."

"You are most welcome, Mister Balin."

She poured the beer and wine, respectively and put it down. She offered more biscuits and some rolls, which they chewed on. Mister Dwalin rather inhaled his, sending a shower of crumbs down his front, getting caught in his big black beard.

Just as she began to put the hot dishes out and offered more wine, the door sounded again. She rushed to open it, only to jump back. There on her mat, lay a heap of dwarves. Jumping aside, Iris bent down to help the frazzled dwarves up from their heap. They all brushed themselves off and began a chorus of "at your service" and introducing themselves, when they stopped.

Their eyes got wide as they looked at her. Oh dear, oh dear, I shall have to do a lot of talking tonight. They were all duly assured that yes, they were in the right house. Yes, she was the hostess. No, she had no brothers or father (May he rest in peace). No they weren't coming. Yes, she was certain. Yes, she was asked by Gandalf. Yes, she was sure. No, she didn't need to sit down thank you. No, Thank You.

She sat them all down on the various (several borrowed) chairs.

They were all kin and were: Dori, Nori and Ori, Bifur, Bombur and Bofur, and Oin and Gloin. They all shifted uncomfortably.

Gandalf needed no introduction and chuckled loudly. She smiled gently as they all fretted over her and insisted on helping her with the remainder of the "heavy" dishes.

A fairly well-fed dwarf with tight-braids fussed about her not getting anything to eat, nor drink herself.

"Thank you kindly, Mister Dori, I've eaten. Would you like some tea?" She had asked the prim, silver haired dwarf.

"Yes thank you!" He'd said, his round face lighting up.

Gandalf, Nori, Bombur and Oin asked for wine. Gloin had beer, Ori some milky tea with a huge amount of honey in it. Bifur asked for nothing.

He was startling: great black beard, wild hair and finally, a glinting axe-head embedded in the right side of his forehead. She tried to reserve some judgment. He seemed gentle enough however, as he munched on the fragrant pink roses in the vase in the middle of the large table.

"Bifur…" Bofur with his black braids and furry hat scolded, "Don' do tha', we're around other people."

She decided to let it go, as it seemed a family quarrel. The dwarves then all tucked in with a Hobbit-y gusto. They made noises of appreciation, heaping their plates with the food. They didn't touch the mushrooms, however. Had she offended them? Then, Bifur grabbed the bowl and dished himself several spoonful's of mushrooms.

He ate and closed his eyes, apparently enjoying the flavor.

About half-way through (she made sure to save three plates for the last guests), as she brought out the puddings and desserts, and the plates were nearly completely empty, a knock sounded.

There stood the last three dwarves. All three were dark: the eldest wore an unhappy, imperious look on his face, the younger two with barely restrained mirth as they spotted her. They stared openly, before being nudged in the ribs by the elder.

The younger ones bowed and introduced themselves as "Fili. And Kili. At your service." Then the other stared down at her as she took their cloaks.

Gandalf came to the door. The other dwarves rose to their feet.

"Ah, Thorin, finally."

"Gandalf, this place is a maze. We got lost- twice."

"Iris Sandyman, may I present the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, this is Miss Iris Sandyman, of Little Delving, at the present", Gandalf said, stooping slightly.

She smiled and dropped a small curtsey- he was to be her employer, after all.

"I'm very glad to meet you, and I am at your service, Mister Thorin." She said, smiling. He circled her, sizing her up. Iris smiled all the more gently up at him.

"She looks more like a green-grocer than a burglar." He said, with only his nephews smirking. At least the others wouldn't laugh at a young woman. "I expected better of a wizard, Gandalf. I thought you would at least have gotten a male 'Hob-it' instead of a miniscule female"

Gandalf frowned and seemed to a bit taller. "What you 'expect' matters little to me, Thorin Oakenshield. If I say Iris is a burglar, than burglar she is to be." The other dwarves froze, the smiles sliding off the faces of the Kili and Fili.

"I'm sorry? Burglar, Mister Gandalf?" She asked quietly, raising one finger in the air.

"Forgive me, Iris." He cleared his throat and began:

"Far to the East, over the Misty Mountains, lies the Lonely Mountain and the lost kingdom of the dwarves, Erebor." The dwarves stood straighter.

She ushered the last three to their seats and gave them their dinners.

She got up to slice the cake for the others, listening carefully to Gandalf's tale.

"The kingdom was decimated by the wyrm, Smaug. He has lain in Erebor's Halls for nearly sixty years. Simply put, my dear, we seek to reclaim the mountain from the dragon." Gandalf lit his pipe, which glowed in the low lights of the candles and oil lamps.

She put down her knife.

"A dragon?" Iris asked, swallowing slightly.

Bofur looked over at her with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. " That would be Smaug, the chieftest calamity of our age, bane of the dwarves. Think furnace- with wings."

She blinked. "Bofur!" Bombur scolded. The large dwarf scowled at his thinner brother.

"A dragon. And you want me to become your burglar, and slay a dragon."

Balin interjected. "Not slay. Find a way past him and… gather a particular item for us. Without this item, all is for naught. With it, you shall help us reclaim our home."

The dwarves shifted and she blinked.

"She's naught but a wee lass! You can't be thinking of endangering her." Interjected Gloin, running his fingers through his great red beard. His brother Oin, who was quite deaf blinked in confusion.

"She's a wee lass at that!" He said, making his brother slap his forehead.

"That's what I said!" He bellowed into his brother's ear horn. Oin cringed, "Don't need to shout Gloin, I'm not deaf."

Thorin put up his hand and the others sat once again. He then brushed the crumbs off his trousers. He stated "if I may, Gandalf. Miss Sandy -man, you must understand our hesitation. You are female." He proclaimed, as if that answered everything. Iris struggled to keep a neutral expression. The Nerve of him!

"Ours is dangerous mission; you, nor anyone else would be guaranteed safety."

He took a drink of wine, as the others exchanged looks. Iris began dishing slices of cake, not breaking eye contact with the dwarf.

"True Mister Thorin. I am female. But I am willing to help all of you. I wish I could say I can understand what it's like, what you all must have experienced. But I can't. I'm not a warrior- I'm a baker by trade. I only know a bit with a sword… but I can learn. I will learn." She said making sure to make eye-contact with all of the dwarves as she spoke. "I will do it, if all of you are willing to give me a chance. What you are trying to do is noble- to aid your people and your families. We are the same in that, I think?"

Gloin nodded, running his thumb gently over a silver locket around his sturdy neck.

"I do not doubt your conviction…" began Thorin Oakenshield, "but yours is a soft and gentle race-"

Gandalf took over. "I have said it once and this will be the last time I repeat myself. Iris is our burglar, her conviction is strong. As far as the 'softness' of Hobbits, a male hobbit would not be any better at fighting nor any less 'gentle' than Iris. But she is quick on her feet, capable, hardworking and… I have seen her skill first-hand." She flushed slightly, but made no protest.

Thorin sighed and nodded at Balin. Several others gasped.

He roughly handed it to her. "Thank you." She said blandly. After reading the (comically) enormous document, she got out a pen and ink. Uncorking the bottle with a slight popping noise, Iris looked up at Mister Balin.

"Do you prefer it in Common, Mister Balin?" She asked.

"Please." He said, trying to smile.

She signed it, and got out Azalea's blotting paper from the roll-top desk. Dabbing it lightly, she handed it back to Thorin.

He glared and handed it to Balin. Balin looked it over, getting out a curious device. It was made of several lens, chased in metal, fitting on his right forefinger. The old dwarf looked everything over, and smiled. His eyes didn't quite match it however, and it made him look much, much older as a consequence.

"Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Lass."

She tried to smile in return. Everyone stirred in their seats.

After kindly being helped with the dishes, the dwarves helped get the extra blankets and cot down from the ceiling beams. She made sure the next few months of rent were stowed in their hiding place. A knot formed in her stomach. Was she doing the right thing, she wondered? Nobody could ever say until afterwards, but… No. There was no time for second-guessing. She was contractually obligated. They needed her. Even if they didn't believe it yet.

As she got out more blankets for the dwarves and assisted them in finding the necessary (out back- shared between her family and the others in the divided-dwelling) and pouring clean water, getting soap and a towel, the dwarves began singing a haunting tune.

Their deep voices rang out, somber and chilling.

_Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold,_

_To Dungeons Deep and Caverns Old_

_We must away, ere break of day_

_To find our long-forgotten gold_

They sang, ending with the lines:

_We must away ere break of day_

_To win our harps and gold from him!_

With that somber note, they all went to bed, lying on beds, cots and a few on the floor. Mister Dori had insisted she "at least" take her father's chair. She inhaled the worn fabric, which smelled of pipe-weed. With that, she closed her eyes and slept.


	4. Leaving, riding, and trolls

Iris' head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton, as she awoke the next morning at four-thirty, as per usual. She rubbed the back of her neck, and sat up. For a moment she panicked at the bear-like snores that sounded throughout her home and the solid, reclining forms of the dwarves came into focus. They had draped themselves over all available space- on the guest cot taken down from the rafters the night before, floor space in the living room and kitchen.

All except Thorin, which Iris found mildly distasteful. He and his eldest nephew had slept in Iris' parents' bed. She had made sure Misters Balin and Oin had taken Azalea and her own bed, as they seemed the eldest.

Gandalf, however, was no-where to be seen.

She stepped over slumbering forms, doing a sort of graceless dance away from feet, sleeping faces and beards.

Washing her face briskly in cool water from the pitcher and grabbing her traveling clothes and pulling them on (whilst holding her nose) in the privy. Iris washed her hands in the kitchen pitcher, and prodded the dying embers in the small range with the well-worn little metal shovel.

The large black kettle was set on top to boil. She struck her tinder box and lit the oil lamps. Just as she replaced the dome to the nearest lamp, she heard a strange crackling.

Mister Bombur had risen, accidentally stepping on his unfortunate smaller brother who responded with several colorful phrases. His furry hat was soon placed over his face like a sleep-mask and he was snoring once again.

Mister Bombur was someone she liked immensely from the start. He was a gentle, soft-spoken dwarf, with a rather rotund figure and great looping and swirling dark-brown beard. He stretched, shoulders shuddering with tiredness.

"Good Morning, Mister Bombur." She said, quietly, getting out the last of the eggs.

"G-Good M-M-M-orning Miss Iris!" He responded, less bothered about waking the others. He set about helping her toast bread, and prepare the huge pot of porridge. The smells of cooking soon roused the others.

Dwarves rose and all (excepting Bifur) inquired after bacon. Mr. Oin, due to his deafness, shouted rather than asked.

Poor Ori's freckled face fell at learning that there in fact, no bacon to be had. They could have some "nice offal" if they liked. He winced slightly. Dori raised a steel-colored eyebrow at him.

"No thank you" he peeped in his quiet voice.

After being served they all asked for various beverages- Mister Dori and Ori asked for tea "if you please", Misters Oin, Gloin and Nori asked after coffee. On this, they were disappointed; coffee was a luxury item. A bag of ground coffee from the shop in Hobbiton, cost the same as a week's groceries for Iris. She offered them a choice in three teas, water or milk, the beer all being drunk the previous night. They opted for black tea.

They all ate rather nosily, some more awake than others. Thorin Oakenshield was silent and was the worst morning person she'd ever met. He actually _growled_ at her!

They'd left a little after dawn, just as the air became clean rather than crisp, the plants stretching to greet the warmth of the sun.

They rode together, in a neat, straight line. Iris had been made to ride in the middle, between gentle Bombur and fierce Dwalin. Gandalf was the only one of their number, who rode an actual horse. Her pony was a rather bug-eyed creature named "Clover". The jouncing took some getting used to.

The comforting small hills and streams grew more and more distant. Until, after the third day, she no longer recognized where they were.

It was rather alienating, but then she was an alien, an outsider. It must have been how dwarves felt as they travelled. She tried to keep her spirits up, by humming Hobbit songs to herself. It worked.

That is until fat rain drops began to drop from the sky drenching Iris nearly through her clothing.

"Mister Gandalf", Dori had asked, "can't you do something about this day-luge?"

Gandalf had shook his head "the rain will stop when it is done raining, not before. If you were hoping for a weather wizard, I'm afraid you are out of luck Mister Dori."

That night they finally decided to make camp near an outcropping, surrounded by large trees. Iris tried not to grumble too much, knowing that she'd wake with pain and cold having settled in her bones. She thought of her sisters, which warmed her a bit.

About two weeks into the journey, after helping Bombur find wild vegetables for the stew, she went to gather firewood. Amongst several fallen logs in a clearing, she spotted Fili and Kili.

The two youngest dwarves were quiet- which made her suspicious. They were boisterous, flirtatious, and frankly, sometimes a little mean.

Fili and Kili had been staring openly at her, until Thorin stopped them with a death glare. When his back was turned to confer with Balin in hushed voices over the ancient looking map, there was no stopping them.

They noticed her and turned around. Broad grins spread across their sparsely bearded faces.

"Miss Iris!" Fili called to her, beckoning her a bit closer.

"I've got to say that jumper is quite becoming." Kili said, winking broadly.

"Yes indeed." Fili agreed.

She blinked and grinned. "It was my father's… thank you for the compliment."

"Hm, yes well, speaking of jumpers…" Fili said.

"We seem to be missing two ponies." remarked Kili.

"Seem to missing?" She said. "Weren't they supposed to be your two's responsibility?" She scolded.

"Well… yes, but, you see…"

"What Kili means to say is, as such a kind hearted burglar, you might help us find them-" Fili began.

Just then, she noticed a glow behind them.

"A fire? We should tell the others, please, go now!" She hissed, edging a bit closer. Her blood ran cold, as Iris looked at the biggest creatures she had ever seen.

Now, she had been fairly sheltered as she was a hobbit, but even she knew what the grey, wrinkly skinned brutes were. Trolls. Three huge, ugly trolls. Arguing and eating whole sides of sheep.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today, an' bless my soul if it don't look like mutton ta-morr'a!" The biggest boomed.

"Ah, shut yer gob, Bill 'Uggins, we've got some nice pony, we do."

"Ya, but you ain't skinned 'em yet" said the smallest, receiving a punch to his misshapen jaw for his trouble.

"Quiet Bert, or I'll skin you." He said, drinking out of a beer barrel.

She snuck to the largest one's side and got his knife of his massive belt. Iris began to loose the coralled ponies, looking frantically over her shoulder for Kili and Fili. Why, oh why hadn't she waited? The trolls were tussling on the ground, cursing and spiting.

But just as the ponies ran away, the smallest with the wall eye looked up. "Hey, the ponies is gettin' away!"

"Wha'?" The other two asked, stopping in mid punch to look right at her.

No, no, no! She began to run, but the biggest stopped right in front of Iris.

"What do we 'ave here?" And with that, he lifted her off the ground.

"Can we eat it?"

"Probably."

"'S not a dwarf, but ain't no man, neither."

"I'm a burgl-Hobbit." She squeaked.

"Burglarahobbit?"

"Yes, let me down or face my wrath!" She knew it was stupid long before they all began laughing. "I mean it, I'll turn you all to stone!"

"Rubbish! Are there any others like you here?"

"No, not at all!" She said. "None like me."

"She's lying" said Bert. "Tom, get me knife."

"No I'm not, you foul creature! Let me down."

"Or what?" Asked Tom. She reached into her cardigan quickly and took out the knife and shoved it with all her might in Bill's eye. He dropped her with a thud.

Just then, the dwarves sprang forward and began fighting. Bill lunged at her, pulling the dagger out of his eye. She grabbed it, and stabbed him in the foot. He howled in rage.

Dwalin used the opportunity to stab his other foot, and Fili to slash at his legs. Right as the dwarves were nearly all grabbed and squeezed into jelly, Gandalf came with the sun.

"The sun take you all!" He cried, cracking a rock with his staff letting the sun through. They all turned to stone violently.

Iris fell as she yanked her dagger out of the troll's now stone foot. The dwarves brushed themselves off. Thorin glared at her.

"What did you think you were doing?"

"My job." She stated.

"A poor job it would seem, as you could have killed us all."

"I was supposed to have help." She said, gesturing to Kili and Fili who looked guilty. He turned his glaring eyes to them and then back. It was a lost cause. Let him be angry.

Gandalf sighed and led them to a horribly smelly cave. "A troll horde" he explained.

Digging through the muck soon revealed beautiful swords- apparently of Elvish make. Gandalf rummaged through a heap of metal and emerged with a tiny sword. Handing it to her, he added "May you use it well, dear Iris."

She weighed the sword in her hands, and carefully unsheathed the blade.

"I never thought a weapon could be so… beautiful."

Gloin scoffed. "Nothing compares to Dwarf weapons, lass. No knife-eared elf weapons can compare to proper Dwarven weaponry!"

She nodded as he ranted about smithing and forging and "bloody elves!"

Why did they hate them so? Musing to herself about what elves were really like, she hoisted herself out of the rank horde and into the fresh air once again.


	5. Rivendell

There were no words to describe Rivendell. If only Azalea had been there, she might have found words for it. Iris couldn't, but some words that came up were "magnificent" and "ethereal". It was green like the land that the hobbits took such care with. Yet exuding a glow she'd only seen in the old forest. The plants thrummed happily here. She couldn't breathe in the beauty of the place. This place was a welcome respite- she could see gardens in the distance. Oh, if only they could stay here for a few weeks! Iris began musing what it would be like to live in a place so grand...

That is until she was pulled off of her feet as several elves approached them nearly silently. Mister Gloin had grabbed her and held her close under beefy left arm.

"Stay close Lass!" He hissed, axe raised with his free hand. She sighed. As if she had had a choice!

Lord Elrond had arrived down the stairs, in deep-red silk robes. Behind him, was his assistant, apparently named Lindir.

He wasn't as androgynous looking as the rest, with a slightly more 'earthy' look to him- with a high forehead, black hair, and rather intense eyes.

When he and Gandalf spoke in the airy language that even Iris knew had to be Elvish, she thought the dwarves would be physically ill.

Gloin released her and stepped forward as Elrond greeted Thorin.

"What's this? Does he offer us insult?"

"No, Master Gloin, he is offering you _food_." Said Gandalf, shaking his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "dwarves, bah!"

The glistening stone work was utterly lovely, but a chore to climb. She hoped they'd be fed, even though they had been uninvited. It was equally bad manners not to feed them, however. The huge bruise on her right side where the troll had dropped her ached. And she surely smelled.

Her prayers were answered, as two lovely elf ladies in pale yellow led her to a guest room. It was sparse, but clean, with a mammoth bed. There was a full sized mirror in the corner. She felt so uncouth for staring, but Iris couldn't help it when her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a tub, installed in the adjacent chamber, with running hot water.

She felt faint, actually.

They insisted on helping her to undress, whisking her clothing away to be cleaned. She got behind the screen, with the help of a small stool and let herself melt into the bath.

"Thank you both so much!" She called.

They giggled in response, apparently wanting to look through her clothing, pausing to get permission.

The blonde flitted in the door, right as Iris lathered herself with the most neutral smelling soap (Dwarves undoubtedly hated floral scents). She helped Iris wash her back, but paused at her bruise.

"Oh Mistress! How did you come by such a nasty thing?" Iris hid her smirk at being called "mistress", and explained.

"Oh, it was a mishap on the road. It's nothing much, it hardly hurts anymore…"

But before she knew it, the other ran out to and had a jar of blue salve. Iris covered herself as best she could, as they dried her and applied the salve onto her bruise.

They helped wash her hair, then comb it gently. The brunette sat her on the edge of the bed and went about cleaning her nails. The other set out her clothing, making Iris splutter.

The elf maidens were very curious, and put her in mind of her twin sisters.

"If you don't mind me asking… what is your race? It's just… you have no beard, so you are not a dwarf."

"No, I'm a Hobbit, from the West."

"Ah. And I hate to ask something so rude, but… the hair on your feet?"

She smiled. "Heh. All Hobbits have hair on our feet, and very thick soles."

"Oh. But your head hair is lovely!" One said hastily.

"Yes, I wish I had curls!" Sighed the blonde.

"Well, they can be a chore, as you know from helping me comb them out. They are nothing compared to my sister, Ivy. Her hair is horribly thick with coarse curls. She cries whenever she has to have her hair brushed."

They giggled. "How many sisters have you got?"

"Six."

"Oh my! Your parents must be busy!"

"Oh, they always were…"

"Were? What do you mean?" Asked the brunette, green eyes reflecting her confusion.

"My parents are dead." She stated blandly, but it caused her great pain. But now was not the time for it.

They both said how sorry they were, and that they never had a family member die. This was another shock. Iris mulled it over, as she went behind the screen to change. She'd packed her best dress. If she was honest (and normally she was) she wanted to be presentable. To show the dwarves she wasn't a vagabond.

It was very nice. Marigold, who was an apprentice dress-maker and she had dyed fabric, to try and closely match the purple variety of her namesake flower. It was a proper dress with the overdress in the blue-purple, and an embroidered under-skirt of robin's egg blue.

She smoothed it out, after tying off her bodice.

Iris felt a bit foolish, but pleased all the same.

She was given a huge bundle of ribbons to keep, along with soap, and a little bag. She opened it, to find some rags and a small bottle. She blushed, but put them in her bag.

Her clothes would be dry come night-fall they said, as they led her to a garden. She gave a start at seeing Bifur in the little nook as well. His axe-head glinted in the sun.

Bofur had quietly explained some days before, that Bifur's wound often made him "funny" and to not sneak up on him, lest he injure her. Bofur's eyes had lost some of their sheen at that. It was obviously a cause of private pain for Bofur. For Bifur too, even more so.

Yet, here he was, quietly picking flowers. He made her feel- at home.

He murmured something to himself in Dwarvish; he spoke no common. But, he understood plenty as Kili had learned the previous night. The young, rather brazen dwarf had asked loudly if Bifur could be "worked into a frenzy and mow down some bloody orcs!" With a violently-exuberant expression on his stubble-ridden face.

Bifur had gestured at the young dwarf, but hadn't "gone berserk" as others accused him of being capable of doing. It had been a very unkind thing to suggest. Bifur had looked away, unable it seemed, to express how hurtful the comment had been. Fili had snickered, but had the decency not to bust out laughing as Kili had done, describing the gore Bifur could leave in his wake.

Dwalin had scowled, but had said nothing. Iris wished she had said something, but instead glared at Kili. Iris and Ori were also favored targets of his, though in different ways.

Ori he teased about being "gentle" and "soft" and "un-Dwarf-like!" for his love of writing and learning. His teasing of Iris was of an untoward nature, which she talked her way out of, confusing him.

He scratched his chin, while Fili smirked, bracing himself against a tree. Kili was obviously used to everyone being bowled over by his charms. But she couldn't be too angry at him, for he honestly didn't think his teasing was hurtful. He wasn't a hateful Dwarf. Just childish.

His brother was a bit better, though his flirtation was a bit more serious. At least, that's what she thought. Iris pretended not to know what he was doing, as he brushed against her at meal times or offered to teach her to use her "letter opener" better. When he asked (really) to touch her curls as they ate their stew.

"May I touch your hair, Miss Iris?" He had asked, trying to sound innocent. "I've never touched _curls _before."

She'd smiled at him: if he wanted to act like a faunt, then she'd treat him like one. Somewhat.

"Oh my. I'm afraid that'd be a bit untoward, Mister Fili. Besides, your hands look a little…well-worn."

His ears had turned a bit pink and he hastily shoved a spoonful of hot soup into his mouth, wincing in pain.

Thorin scowled mightily at them all.

Currently, Bifur was picking flowers. He paused to barely brush his large, short fingers over the delicate petals of the nearest bloom. It did Iris' heart good to see someone enjoying flowers with a Hobbit-like gentleness and ease. A group of elves were promenading over the small bridge just opposite of Bifur and Iris. They spotted Bifur, smelling fragrant flowers and smiling broadly- and tittered. At the sound he started- and looked up at Iris. He gently let the bloom go and nodded.

"Hello Mister Bifur. I'm sorry if I startled you..." she began.

Bifur scurried behind a rock and came back with a lone flower. He held the unmistakable purple flower out to her, eager expression on his face. His hands coated in dirt up to his wrists, bits of stems caught in his hair and beard.

Taking the flower she smiled warmly at him: "Oh thank you, Mister Bifur! Another iris!"

He murmured something and ducked his head, obviously pleased with himself. He shifted in place and then went back to his task of smelling all of the blooms in Rivendell. Iris walked around, carefully gathering specific blooms together for a bouquet.

Iris hummed happily to herself as she picked the flowers, breathing in the warm air and fragrances of flowers. She had managed to find a lovely bouquet for Bifur: Agrimony, blue cockles, a pink rose, daisy and lilacs. She handed the flowers, which Bifur accepted with a smile, holding the flowers like they were made of glass.

They sat down, drinking in the colors around them.

"I wish we could spend more time here. It's nice to be surrounded by plants again. Listen to them…" she stopped and flushed slightly. Bifur was a dwarf; he wouldn't understand her unless she explained.

"Erm… Hobbits… we can hear plants, it's hard to explain. It's like… a thrum, I suppose. I feeling and a sound. Sometimes it's like a… I'm sorry, my prattling on, you must think me quite mad." She stated, flushing slightly.

He looked straight at her and shook his head. His expression was serious. Bifur spoke again in the low, rumbling speech of his people. He softened his expression, hazel eyes soft. He has lovely eyes, her inner voice mused. _They're a lot like the color of the fairy-ring near home, aren't they?_

She blinked. "Enough about me. I noticed that you know which flowers are for eating. Do you grow flowers at home?"

He nodded and talked. His language was deep, rumbling and a bit harsh to her ears. He used gestures, which she'd learned was its own language, to elaborate. He made a 'small' gesture with his hands, and pointed to a few of the flowers: roses, cornflowers and on the other side of the garden, fennel.

They sat and talked for an hour or so until Bifur apparently went to wash up and she to brush off her dress.

Dinner was a sulky affair, with the dwarves grumbling of injustice and green food.

"I don't like green food", whined Ori.

"Ach! They are trying to poison us!" Roared Gloin.

Iris munched happily on her nice salad with spiced oil, unlike all but one of the dwarves. She caught his eye and she could have sworn he gave her a rather small wink.

Gandalf caught her eye, ghost of a smile behind his grey beard.


End file.
